Castaway
by Maria de Sanctos
Summary: Ash and torment. Dark and Twisted. Two broken souls from different worlds. What could go wrong? Romance and some hurt/comfort and angst. Rated for intense violence.
1. Chapter 1

Her hair was braided and twisted around her head, it framed her face in an odd way. Making it seem smaller and wider. Her stance was defiant and tense. Her body was small, slender, and lithe. Her arms and shoulders revealed hidden strength. Her hands were small, but well formed and strong. They were slender and pale. She was dressed in a strange fabric that seemed to change color depending on where she was. It was a pale gold when she walked in front of the golden halls of the palace. It shimmered blue under the sky and it turned black when she walked in the shadows. It was a slit dress, formed to look as a flower bud. It had elbow length sleeves. The collar was V shaped and the sides extended up her neck a ways. It clung to her waist, but otherwise it was loose and flowing. She wore skintight white leggings underneath. Over this she wore a translucent black cloak, it made her disappear in the shadows. On her feet were knee high, black boots, they had a heel that was at least an inch. Hidden under the folds of her dress and cloak, were daggers of all different sizes. Her face was chiseled and well formed, but it had seen years of wear and abuse. She had dark brown hair flecked with silver, her eyes were bluish-gold, they sparkled whenever anything bright reflected in them. Her ears curled back into a sharp point, although it was softer than most Dark Elves. Her skin was slightly gray, it was definitely not tan. Her lips were pulled into a tight frown, her forehead was bunched in a perpetual scowl. Her face was dead, her eyes only sparkled with life.

Death, that's what she looked like when she first arrived in Asgard. How different she looks now! But I am getting ahead of my story. Let me formally introduce myself, I am Princess Isa, daughter of Loki Laufeyson. And this is the story of my family. It begins with the arrival of Tuarwen of the Dark Elves. She was sent as an atonement gift for the trouble the Dark Elves caused the Asgardians. She was known as a guard and perhaps less known as an assassin. She was skilled in the art of warfare. She was the personal guard of the royalty of Svartalfheim, she had saved their lives single-handed many times. She was sent from her home to seal the surrender of the Dark Elves to the Asgardians. She would be assigned to the royal family of Asgard as their guard. She had no say in the matter. Although she did not betray any emotion before Asgard, it is said when she turned to look back at her home, she wept tears. With her home behind her, she left for a new life.

So there she was, in a strange new world. Alone and friendless and shunned. After the disaster with Malekith, the Asgardians almost started a war with the Dark Elves. Had they not restored the life of the Queen of Asgard and sent them Tuarwen, the Dark Elves would have found themselves bowing before Asgard, but none of this made them anymore loved there.

Her trip in the Bifrost did not faze her. She brushed the dirt off her clothes, silently bowed to Heimdall, and quietly vaulted onto the horse that was standing outside the enclosure. She rode off down the Rainbow Bridge. Her dress sparkled different colors like the bridge. Her silence caused the Asgardian guards much discomfort. She remained silent even after she entered the palace. She had been in Asgard before, so she knew her way to the throne room. Her feet made no sound against the marble floors. Her figure cast an eerie shadow on the golden walls. She stepped before the throne, the King's gaze looked down swiftly from were he stood. A tall woman stood next to him. She was beautiful, with flaxen blonde hair and blue eyes. Her face was bright and kind. Tuarwen assumed this was the Queen of Asgard. The King turned to look at her, she bowed in the Dark Elf fashion, the palm of her hand over her heart and one knee on the floor. She dared to look up at the King, her face formed into a glare, her eyes biting like daggers. Her gaze flickered over to the Queen briefly, who gave her a small smile. She rose from her knee and stared at the King with a numb expression.

"Do you know why you are here?" He addressed her. Tuarwen did not hesitate to answer with her biting voice.

"I am an atonement gift to Asgard to avoid a war with Svartalfheim." She replied, without hesitation, she admitted freely to be only a bargaining chip to her country. She held her eye contact with the King. Her eyes were trained for his every movement. Fear was pushed so far back into her that she did not remember what it felt like.

"Your King has informed me that you are an assassin," he paused, Tuarwen did not answer him. Her numb gaze was starting to disturb him just the slightest bit. "You will be assigned as a personal guard here. Do you agree to this?" She nodded once in response to him, her eyes never leaving his face.

"Very well. You will be assigned to guard my son. Attempts have been made on his life, being an assassin I will expect you to be ahead of every attempt. And if you even think of betraying Asgard, death will find you quickly," his eyes leveled on her. The intensity of it would have anyone quailing in fear. Tuarwen; Tuarwen merely stood still with her eyes upon him. The barrier stood, fear would never escape it.

"I understand," she finally said. The King looked at her once more before turning away. Her eyes locked on his figure, until she noted another presence. Standing next to her, with the sweetest smile stood the Queen. Tuarwen did not return the smile, she just stared at the woman.

"Come, my dear. I will show you your room," she said softly, while walking away from the throne. Tuarwen shifted her gaze back to the King and gave a stiff bow. She then followed the Queen out of the room. The Queen still smiled at her as she held the door open, Tuarwen did not look at her, she looked straight ahead, ignoring everything. So they walked in silence, the walls absorbing the silence and the soft footsteps of the Queen, Tuarwen's footsteps could not be heard. They passed guards and servants in the hallways. If Tuarwen noticed their incredulous looks, she ignored them. The Queen was beginning to wonder if she noticed anything or if she was frozen in ice, not seeing or feeling anything. But Tuarwen was mapping the palace in her head, which required her full attention. Otherwise, she would have leveled anyone who dared to look at her with an icy glare.

The Queen stopped before a small wooden door, she opened it immediately and walked inside. Never had she been happier to be inside the small bare room. If for nothing else than to escape the silence and the unease she felt around the young woman. She would have tried to start a conversation, but for the strange feeling that caught her throat. Besides, if the girl refused to answer the King completely, why would she answer her? Tuarwen walked in and looked around for a moment, she took in the room. This is what she saw, there was a small bed against the left corner, there was a chest against the foot of it and several more against the right side of the room. There was one closet on the same side, it was rather old and in need of a good sanding. There was one window directly opposite of the door. It was small and couldn't be reached without a stool. The walls were a bright white and the floor was a gray tile. It felt like a prison to Tuarwen, but it was better than most of the places she had stayed in while on a mission. She proceeded to unpack the bags that had been left on the bed. She took out her daggers and other weapons first, she placed them in the chest by the bed, she wanted them close in case she would need them. She then pulled out an extra cloak and deposited it in the closet with a blue linen dress. She put a pair of black leather pants and a few shirts in the chest. She placed her battle armor in another, it was a leather tunic with a pleated skirt, the only other armor she appeared to have were two leather vambraces, which she proceeded to strap to her arms. She put the bags in the corner. Frigga was surprised that she didn't see any personal items come out of the bags. Tuarwen surely knew she would be here for the rest of her life, so why did she bring nothing from her home? Unless there was nothing worth taking.

Frigga smiled reassuringly, but Tuarwen did not notice, she continued to stare into the Queen's eyes. Frigga hated to admit it, but she was intimidated by that stare. Few things could scare her as Queen, but this girl was quite capable with simply one look. Maybe it was the lack of expression that made it intimidating, the fact that you couldn't be sure if she was going to murder you within the next minute. Frigga decided that must be it. She shook it off, knowing she was more than capable of defending herself.

"Are you ready?" she asked in a sweet voice. Manipulation was not going to work she realized when Tuarwen simply gave a short nod. The girl probably dealt with it every day. She walked out of the room, the silent girl following her. Tuarwen closed and locked the door, then looked to Frigga to let her know she was ready for her direction. They proceeded down a hallway in the opposite direction, it was quieter here. There were less guards walking around, they were stationed at the doors of several rooms instead. Tuarwen knew this was where all the royalty's rooms were. The stopped before a large door, the Queen placed her hand on the doorknob, Tuarwen grabbed her wrist before she could twist the nob of gold.

"It's better if he doesn't know I exist," her voice was the gentlest Frigga had yet to hear. She complied and waited for Tuarwen to pull up her hood and blend in with the background. She pulled the door open and walked in, Tuarwen seemed to disappear immediately. Frigga noted with a smile that her son was seated on a chair reading. He did not leave his room much anymore, mostly because Asgard wanted his head for his past deeds, little did they know, he brought their Queen back and avoided war with Svartalfheim. He looked up when he heard the rustle of fabric, a smile graced his sharp face.

Tuarwen watched them from her perch on a ledge around the ceiling. She didn't note the way his face lit up with the sight of his Mother, instead, she noted his strengths and weaknesses. He was smaller and more slender than most Asgardians, but by the way he moved and positioned himself, she knew he had received and excelled at the training the nobility were given. It would be hard to kill him, but it was possible. There were flaws in the training, small ones, but enough to make it possible. Her attention was brought back when she heard the door slam, she smiled to herself, the Queen was a fool to trust her so easily.

Tuarwen remained in her perch for the rest of the day. Her thoughts wandered to the Prince and the new world she had found herself in. It was different from her home. It was lighter and greener, the palace was heavily decorated in only the finest materials. It was very different from the home Tuarwen knew. But then again, where was home? Tuarwen had spent most of the last centuries in other countries, completing the tasks her King had given her. She was almost never in her home country. And when she was, she preferred to be somewhere else, not making attachments to one place. But Svartalfheim was not the kind of place one would desire to stay in anyway. It was dark and dusty. The land even rebelled against the elves, choking out their lives and making their country a despairing nightmare for all. The people lived in constant fear of the assassins and the King's temper. On a mere whim, he could execute anyone who stood in his way. He was a tyrant in all the word could embody. Unfortunately, the elves were willing to live under the tyranny, Tuarwen could never understand that, she couldn't understand why they couldn't think for themselves and build their own world. The children lived suffocating lives, they were taught to tow-the-line as young children. One wrong word and you could be beaten. It seemed the opposite in Asgard, everything seemed different in Asgard. Children ran through the city unnoticed, making as much noise as possible. The colors were gay and bright. People were free to do what they wanted, they were not punished for their opinions. The Prince was the only one who reminded her of the Dark Elves. His colors were even dark and depressing. Green and black, with only the slightest bit of gold mixed in. The room was an odd collection of books, papers, and daggers. It was well kept and clean, but there was a melancholy to it. He reminded her of one of the princes in Svartalfheim, quiet and morose. Prideful, dignified, and arrogant, but scheming and intelligent. With a sarcastic and witty personalty, at least that was somewhere behind all the twisted ideas and mindsets.

The sun went down and the shadows lengthened, hiding her from sight. A servant came in and lit the candles. The Prince did not even give the girl any notice, he simply remained in his chair and finished his book. He stood up and walked over to the desk. He set down the book and rustled through his papers in search of something. He bent over, his hair falling in front of his face and hiding it from view. Tuarwen wonder just how much he could see from behind his curtain of dark hair. She shifted purposefully in her perch, his head whipped around. He noted the differences in the shadows, he could see more than Tuarwen gave him credit for. He looked around the room for a few minutes, his gaze lingering in Tuarwen's spot. The shadows and her cloak concealed her, she hoped. He returned his attention to his desk, but his movements were softer and more gentle. He was playing a game with an invisible shadow. He certainly had no intention of dying anytime soon. He sat down and started taking some notes, he took his time, much to Tuarwen's disappointment. Her body was starting to give slight resistance from sitting in the same spot so long. She waited patiently. He finally stood up and pushed the notes back into his desk. He walked towards the door, keeping his eyes forward, but stealing slight glances towards her corner. He walked out the door. Tuarwen waited until she heard his footsteps before sliding down from her perch. It took several minutes for her to hear them, he had the intelligence to test for intruders, but he'd probably had experience doing so for awhile now. Especially, if attempts were already made on his life.

Tuarwen pulled out a dagger and looked it over, it was a cruel looking weapon, balanced enough for throwing, but the blade was barbed, small points sticking out in all directions. It was not something you'd want to pull out of yourself. Unwillingly, Tuarwen's hand shot up to her shoulder, she rubbed it slightly before forcing it down. Her breathing had sped up and she started to shake. She closed her eyes and gripped the dagger. "Breathe, just breathe," she mentally told herself. The shaking stopped and she pulled the fearless mask back on. She started walking over to the bed. She paused before the curtains. Straining her eyes, she listened closely. Sheathing the dagger, she rushed back to her perch. She noiselessly climbed up the wall and sat back down. Mere seconds later, a servant girl stepped into the room. She was carrying a tray of food. "Well this makes it easier," she thought, if he didn't eat in the main dinning hall, it made it easier for her to make sure his food wasn't poisoned. The girl didn't remain long, she looked relieved to have missed the Prince as she walked out of the room. Tuarwen slipped from her perch again, dagger forgotten and any signs of the previous incidents. She walked over to the desk where the girl had left the Prince's dinner. She held a candle over it and looked for any discolor, she then sniffed it. Nothing. She proceeded to taste the wine. Nothing. One would think poisoning would be easier than trying to sneak into the room and try killing him. Unless, this was a personal grudge. Poisoning was the first thing assassins tried, unless their employer had a personal grudge against them. Which usually meant they wanted them to die painfully and with knowledge of their executioner. Whoever was after him was after blood. She heard footsteps in the hall, she hurried back to her perch. What was the type of creature after him anyway?


	2. Chapter 2

**The Training Grounds**

Tuarwen woke up in the dark, her mind struggled to remember where she was and what happened. She noted the dark colors and the bed covered in green curtains, definitely not Svartalfheim. She stretched slightly, trying to avoid moving too much. The curtains had not been opened yet **,** so the room was veiled in shadows. It must have still been early. Tuarwen glanced at the food that had been deposited on the desk. It reminded her that she had not eaten in some time. She had just got back from a mission when her King had unceremoniously told her she was leaving for good to Asgard. She barely had time to gather her things before the Dark Elves had thrown her out of their city like she was a traitor. It had been at least four days since she had eaten. She would have to steal something later. At the moment her guard duties resumed. She heard the Prince make a soft sound from the bed, moments later she heard the sheets rustle. The curtains were opened suddenly, blinding her eyes for a second. She noted his sudden interest on something outside, not daring to move, she tried to guess what it could be.

The Prince had been on his guard since she had foolishly given up her position. He had remained alert all night, just on the edge of sleep, she could hear his rather fast breathing to know he did not rest peacefully. The slightest movement could foil her already too foiled plans more. She heard distant shouts of trainees and guards. His window must have looked out to the Training Grounds. She suddenly wondered if he ever went there anymore. As if to answer her question, he lazily picked up a knife and flipped it in the air a few times, his gaze still on the world below his window. He absently glanced at the food the servant girl had brought in. He smirked in a self-satisfying way and hurried away somewhere out of Tuarwen's sight. Tuarwen sat in a bemused mindset, what just happened? She recognized his look as one of intelligence and a predator. For a moment Tuarwen felt like the assassin again, trying to outwit her opponent. What was the point of all this? He had been acting strange all night, but this was starting to concern her. Did he know she was in here? What did he know about her? It was a battle of wits and Tuarwen was not about to let anyone beat her at her game. Until, she remembered she was guarding him, not trying to kill him. Her job was to make sure his life went on, not to play games with him, that's why she was kept alive, she was the assurance that Svartalfheim would not be annihilated. If only her life was being bargained with, she would not have hesitated to end it, but when the weight of an entire world was thrown onto her, she was going to do her best to keep it alive, no matter how horrible she had been treated there, no matter the pain she had and still did feel, no matter how much they had ruined her and turned her into the monster she was now. If for no one else than the innocent children who would not remain innocent much longer. The more Tuarwen thought about it the more she realized life was an unending circle of corruption and shattered hopes. The hopes she had once longed for in Svartalfheim were gone, all beaten to nothing. "Like her," she thought, involuntary touching her face, she could feel the torn and shredded skin, still festering under the new growth. The small scars that crossed her face were invisible unless someone stood inches away from it. Sometimes her King would look onto her broken face to intimidate her, she would scream, begging him to spare her the humiliation, that was before she learned to feel nothing.

Her eyes, that she did not know had closed, opened suddenly when something unceremoniously landed on the ground. Tuarwen glanced at the dagger on the floor, still lost in her painful thoughts. The Prince stooped to pick it up, the same smirk still on his face. Did he think whoever was in his room was asleep? He was dressed and headed out the door before Tuarwen knew what was going on. She waited for his footsteps to be heard before she slipped down from her hiding place. Her eyes skimmed the untouched food, for a moment she thought about stealing some of it. A sudden thought hit her right in the head, she would have smiled if she could have. It was clever really, leave your breakfast untouched and wait for it to be stolen. Wasn't really a very good trick, but it was nice try. She glanced back to the bed. As quickly as she could, she opened the curtains around the bed and slipped a dagger out from under her cloak. She positioned it under the pillow. She drew back to the door, listening for a second, she didn't want anyone to see her coming out of the Prince's room.

She flew down the hallway as fast as she dared. She had already wasted too much time in his room. She knew where he was going, but he couldn't be left on his own for too long. There were too many dark passages and uninhabited corners in the Palace, ones where you could be stopped and pulled into the shadows easily. She made sure she at least stopped and looked into as many of the corners as she could. Nothing unusual yet. Her hood was still wrapped around her head tightly. No one noticed the dark shadow flitting around the Palace. Tuarwen reached the gates, she glanced behind herself one more time. She noticed something black moving along the shadows, she was tempted to return to the maze of hallways and follow the shadow, but she left the Palace and headed to the Training Grounds. She immediately noticed her charge was not on the Grounds. She did notice the Crown Prince and his friends were having small battles with each other. She walked over to a tree and stood under it while scanning the surrounding area for the Prince. She was starting to get worried when she couldn't see him.

"Loki!" Tuarwen glanced at the Crown Prince before noting that the aforementioned Prince was striding onto the field, with a handful of knives.

"How odd," she thought. "I didn't see him there."

Tuarwen knew at that moment she was dealing with someone who could use magic exceedingly well. She watched the princes with little interest for awhile, leaning back against the tree. She glanced upward, the tree was tall and broad, a perfect place to sit and see the surrounding area with ease. She threw her cloak away from her arms and grabbed a branch. Without the protection of her cloak, two white sleeves could easily be seen if you looked in the right place. Loki just happened to be looking in the right place at the right time. He smirked to himself, he had convinced himself he was not going to fall prey to anymore assassins.

Tuarwen sat back against the trunk, she had scrambled up to a nice spot where she could sit and put her legs up on another branch. She still had a perfect view of the Training Grounds and the Palace. The Prince was content to throw daggers and cause occasional mischief to his brother. Tuarwen smirked when she saw Thor's hair turning an olive green color. His friends could barely contain their laughter. Loki turned back to them and smiled mischievously. Oh, how he missed playing pranks on people.

Tuarwen had no idea how long she had been up in the tree when she noticed a dark figure watching the Prince intently. She sat up immediately and scanned the person with her hawk eyes. It was unmistakable. She jumped out of the tree and swiftly walked closer, dressed in black and wearing a hood. It was pretty hard to miss someone dressed in black where almost all the people dressed in light and gay colors. She wondered why Asgard had such trouble with assassination attempts when the assassins stood out so much. Tuarwen failed to realize how advanced her training was and how often she had seen assassins. It was rare for Asgard to hire killers, they preferred open attacks. It was more courageous they thought, little did they know how much courage was required to sneak into someone's room and hope beyond hope that no one was awake. The stakes were higher in Tuarwen's game, getting caught meant instant death, unless you could escape, which was unlikely. Tuarwen knew many assassins who never returned, they were never heard from again. She never ran across any signs of them in her travels. Of course, they weren't friends, so it didn't matter anyway. Dark Elf assassins didn't have friends. It wasn't allowed, nothing could get in the way, not even life or death.

"Oh, how it will be fun to play this game again," mused Tuarwen, sarcastically.

She noted everything she could about the assassin before her. She took in his stance, build, eye color, which was gold strangely enough. She couldn't see his skin color, but she saw enough to be able to identify him should he change his clothing. As nothing more than a shadow she tried to get closer to him, so she could see his skin. His relaxed stance tensed up as soon as she got within hearing distance. She heard his breath hitch in confusion. He promptly turned and all but fled back into the Palace. Tuarwen still didn't see his skin color, but she had an uneasy feeling in her stomach, like she had seen him before. She turned around to note that the Prince was still with his brother, she took the time to hurry off to the market place.

Tuarwen never had time to appreciate the market places she had been to. Svartalfheim didn't have market places, food there was limited and precious. She had been in the Market Place of Asgard before, but it was a long time ago. Little seemed to change here. It still looked the same, with it's colorful lanterns and bright wears. The sellers and buyers were talking cheerfully. Tuarwen didn't catch onto much of their conversation, but what little she did, it seemed exceedingly boring, it was mostly about politics and farming. While Tuarwen didn't hear, we will listen into what they said.

"Aye, it has been a good year for the crops, except for those maundering thieves that keep stealing cows and wheat."

"I thought the Prince took care of that," said a passing buyer.

"Aye, we all thought he did, but they were hiding all along. He never had a chance to catch them," a small group of men were starting to gather around this particular stall.

"Can't catch what you can't see," said the seller and the whole group exploded into laughter.

"Have you heard about the Prince?" asked a new comer. Tuarwen perked her ears up at this. The Crown Prince was never spoken of with such a sour voice, it had to be the one she was guarding.

"The trickster?" the man nodded. "Nope, I avoid listening to anything I can about him."

"Well, they say that attempts have been made on his life," the whole stand perked up at that. Tuarwen almost felt sick, "But I've heard they brought in a Dark Elf to guard him." Several people shifted uneasily in their stance. Tuarwen smirked, some things would never change, particularly a certain race's judgments on others.

"A Dark Elf? Couldn't get anyone else to do it?" Said the seller with a smile, although he was clearly uneasy and was forcing a humorous response to keep his buyers from walking away.

Tuarwen helped herself to some of the Seller's wares. Satisfied with a loaf of bread and a few apples, she made her way out of the Marketplace. It wasn't until she neared the edge, that she noticed a dark figure leaning against a tree. She fancied it was the same shadow she saw before leaving the castle earlier. Was someone onto her? She trusted her skill though, and ignored whoever was watching her. She left for the Training Fields, arriving back just as the Prince was leaving. At least she caught him before he disappeared back into the Palace. She followed him silently, attaching herself to the shadows on the wall. He stopped in the Library and pulled various books off the shelf, until he had a small pile in his arms. He stepped out of the Library and crossed back to his room. He immediately set the books onto the desk, he glanced at the untouched food still there. His face was scrunched up in confusion. Most would have smiled in triumph at fooling the Trickster, Tuarwen was busy weighing the room and testing theories to give him much of her attention. He disappeared behind a closed door a few moments later. Tuarwen took the time to study the layout of his room and memorize every nook and cranny in it. It was a fairly simple room, with a few closets for clothes, armor, and weapons. A small side room for books, a bathing room, and the bedroom. She briefly studied each and every room. Her eyes brought her back to the main room, the bedroom. She noted a balcony that led to the outdoors. The doors were opened, so she stepped outside, she glanced over the view of Asgard, before noting the Training Field almost directly below her. The room wasn't as high up as she thought it was. Only fifty yards at the most. Easily accessible to her. She placed herself behind the curtains and waited for the Prince to emerge again, if he was not going to leave his room again that day she could leave without having to worry. If he so much as stepped one foot outside of the room without her around, she would kill him herself. When Tuarwen thought like that, it was hard to decide if she was jesting or telling the truth, her threats were not to be taken lightly and she was not prone to being lighthearted. Her emerged minutes later and settled in a chair with his new pile of books. Tuarwen waited for a few minutes before he appeared to be content to stay in the same spot for the rest of the day.

Tuarwen glanced down the balcony, it was a bit too far to just jump. She noticed a tree to her right, it was at least a good ten feet away from her. She glanced back to the room, Loki was hidden from sight by a curtain. She took a few steps back from the railing before she took off running towards it. With a small agile leap she landed on the railing and without hesitation she leaped from there, using her momentum to propel her farther, she easily landed on the tree. She made her way down with grace, she had been climbing things for years. It was an art in itself. Unfortunately, Svartalfheim didn't have any trees, so that made it hard to become skilled without getting killed. You would have to climb a tree at some point in most missions, so when you are a beginner and you're trying to escape, it makes it very difficult to escape without some reminder of your struggle. That reminder is usually a scar of some sort. Most assassins could tell stories about the scars they had, those were the ones who were retired from there work and lived a happy life. Most of their scars had disappeared with time. Tuarwen probably had the most stories to tell and the most scars, hers didn't want to go away. Almost ever inch of her skin had scars, except her face. Some crisscrossed with older ones, causing strange patterns to form. The longer you remained an assassin the more scars you would have. Tuarwen was the best of the Dark Elves, she had been at her art for more than five hundred years.

If one would have looked at the farthest ring in the Training Grounds, they would have beheld a strange sight. Tuarwen was still wrapped in her disguise cloak and she was furiously hurling daggers into targets. The flying daggers would have looked strange from another persons view, as Tuarwen was almost entirely invisible. Daggers seemed to appear from nowhere. They always landed in the middle of the target. When she grew tired of hurling the daggers, she took out two slightly longer ones and practiced stances. She took down invisible opponents quickly and calmly. When she grew tired of this after about fifteen minutes, she took out a small crossbow. She returned to shooting the targets. Slamming the small darts in again and again. Her aim was precise and quick, the darts fell mere seconds apart. She began shooting the other targets, revolving in a circle around her. Her footing was neat and well ordered, she never missed a target, hitting the exact center each time. She finished with the crossbow and retrieved the darts from the targets. She resumed her spot in the middle of the targets, unsheathing a dagger, she admired the curves and spikes in it. She looked back up at the targets and measured the distance between them with her eyes. She planted her feet in the ground and closed her eyes. Counting to ten before she let the first dagger fly, she hurled them blindly all around the ring, as fast as she threw them she took another out. When she returned to the beginning of the targets she opened her eyes. Dead center with each dagger, but Tuarwen was not pleased with herself, so she did it again.

Blind dagger throwing it was called, it was the cruelest training an assassin from Svartalfheim would ever go through. The candidate would be drug out to the ring and shown each one, she was taught to measure the distance with her eyes. Most of the girls were scared of the punishments and torture they had received, others were too weak to stand up. Not Tuarwen, she stepped into the ring proudly, with her head up high. The teachers laughed at the small frail girl, thinking they'd have some fun tormenting her. The girls did not have a chance to try this procedure before they were expected to nail ever target dead center while blindfolded. Tuarwen took a careful measure of every target, to make it harder, they put each target a different length from the other. The odds of succeeding were very slim, Tuarwen didn't even want to think what would happen if she didn't. She waited for the trainer to blindfold her. She felt the cloth coming over her eyes, blinding them and cutting off her vision. She barely flinched when the trainer tied the cloth tighter than it needed to be. It ate into her eyes painfully, she told herself to channel the pain into focus. "Use it to try harder," she told herself. This was before the insecurity and the childishness was gone, when she still had to learn and remind herself of the lessons she had been taught. She unsheathed two daggers, waiting for the signal, she mentally counted, clutching the dagger harder. "When you're ready," she heard somebody say. She breathed deeply, calming herself and turning all her emotions off, emotions got in the way of all training, they had to be removed. She held the dagger up and let it fly, not waiting to hear it's thud into the target, she moved onto the next one. She kept letting the daggers fly until she could sense she was back at the beginning.

"Is that it?!" She heard somebody scream, before the blindfold was ripped off. She looked at the targets, she had managed to hit every one and hit it dead center as well. She glanced at the last target to find she had hit the same target twice, she had misjudged and forgotten the number of targets. No one had ever hit all the targets dead center in the career of any of the trainers and this was Tuarwen's first time as well. The trainers were indigenous and upset that the frail child had more skill than they did. They intended on making her pay for thinking she was better than them, they could clearly see it in her eyes, the pride that shown. So they would just make it harder. One came forward with a knife, sneering at the sheer terror in Tuarwen's eyes. He forcefully took her wrist, his strength threatening to to crush it. He took his knife and sliced it across her wrist. She bit back a scream as soon as she felt the blood flowing, it wasn't a very deep wound, but it would be difficult to throw knives without it screaming with pain. The trainers laughed at her discomfort and pain. They pulled the blindfold back on and forced her to throw the knives again and again. The more she did it the harder it was to get it perfect, they cut her wrists and punched her as a punishment. She could no longer do it with ease as the wounds grew bigger from her throwing movements. They kept making her do it. It wasn't until the sun went down that they let her stop. Her resilience and pride were crushed. She couldn't feel anything anymore, even the pain was muted and distant. She was truly numb now.

She glanced back at the last target again. The memories haunted her through the days and kept her awake through the nights. They weren't really bad memories, they were just memories. Ones that kept her awake. They didn't mean anything, they hadn't for years, she had bottled them up in herself so bad, she could hardly remember what was real and what she had told herself. She couldn't remember if it was her trainers who told her she was nothing and her life didn't have a reason other than to serve her King, or if she had fed herself this. Was she still serving her King now? If he still demanded her service, would she go back? Asgard was nice, but she would never be welcome here. It was just another place she had traveled and stayed at. One that she would leave eventually.

The sun was low in the Western sky by the time Tuarwen headed back to the Palace, she went through the front doors and went to her room. The hallways seemed full of people, women in fancy gowns, warriors, and servant girls were all walking up and down the major paths through the Palace. Tuarwen was forced to take a less used hallway and nearly lost herself in the empty paths. She found herself back at her room. She had walked almost the entire perimeter of the Palace to get back. The sun was already a crescent behind the horizon, she realized it had taken longer than she had anticipated it would to change into her shadow armor. She was taking a risk going on with her plan, but Tuarwen's life was full of risks already, another one wouldn't make much of a difference. She stopped noticing them a longtime ago anyway.

She threw her cloak onto the bed and went to the wardrobe, she took a pair of black leather pants and a black suede shirt with attached sleeves, the stitches around the seem were loose, revealing gray skin on the tops of her arms. She threw off the white dress and left it on the bed, she would deal with it latter. She pulled on the pants and tied the shirt off in the back and topped it with leather chest armor, it was cut away at the top, leaving her upper chest exposed to any injury that came along. Dark Elf assassins were trained for speed and agility, they did not build armor for protection, there would always be another one to replace any they lost. Besides, if she couldn't protect herself from injury, she couldn't be that skilled to begin with. To prove your worth, you had to survive. The armor was built rather to help with agility. Tuarwen's chest plate was pulled tight to keep her body straight and tall, but not too tight, so she couldn't bend or twist her body. She pulled her boots back on and sheathed her daggers on her arms and legs. She put a few smaller ones on her chest and back. Her foot long daggers were securely strapped to her back in a quiver. Her crossbow collapsed and fit there as well. The crossbow was not built for speed, it was built for long range assassination, but it could be useful in situations where one is waiting for their target to come to them. Satisfied that she had all her weapons, she pulled her cloak on herself again and pulled up the hood, tightening the strings to keep it securely around her head.

She pulled the door shut and locked it, she didn't want the shadow that she had seen going through her things. She was outside the Palace again in no time. She walked back to the tree and shimmied up it without difficulty. She climbed up higher than before and jumped down, she barely landed inside the railing, not making a sound, like she wasn't made of anything. The doors were still opened, why would someone leave the doors open this late? Tuarwen glanced towards the chair the Prince usually sat in. He was still there, she could see his back facing towards the balcony. She silently stepped through the doors. She froze when she heard his voice.

"I know you're there," he held a self-satisfied look on his face. He could sense her presence. She stared at his face, she was only a few feet from him and directly to his right. He shifted uneasily in his seat, his confidence slowly fading. Tuarwen waited until he turned to look in her direction and seeing nothing before returning to her hiding spot. Not the slightest noise did she make, nor even the smallest shadow. She stared down at Loki's bemused face, he was still staring at the doorway and the spot she had been standing in. It took all of her self control to not throw a knife in his direction. At least she made him question his sanity, that was payment enough. Tuarwen knew what it was like to question yourself, she knew what it was like to remain awake long nights, questioning everything you knew over and over again. But not this night, this night Tuarwen would be on guard all night. There wouldn't be any sleep for her tonight.


	3. Chapter 3

**In the Night**

It was almost past midnight and Tuarwen was still up and waiting. The Prince had gone to bed an hour ago, completely oblivious to what was going on.

"It must be nice," thought Tuarwen. "Not having a single worry in the world."

Tuarwen didn't know what that life was like, she was always thinking of something, worrying for the future. Even when she was still in the orphanage. She was a fool to think her troubles would end that one time. For one time she thought she might find a home and a family, but no, that could never happen. She would never have a home, never have a family, and never have something to call her own.

Tuarwen heard soft footfalls in the distance. She hadn't heard any in hours, who would be up at this hour? Tuarwen knew exactly who would be up and moving, she slid down the wall from her perch. She untied her cloak, crumpled it into a bundle, and threw it onto the chair. She positioned herself in the corner near the Prince's bed, blending in with the shadows. She gently pulled out her long daggers, she couldn't avoid making a slight noise as the steel brushed against the scabbard. She glanced over to the bed, she could hear the deep, even breathing of the Prince.

"Good, he's still asleep. Lets keep it that way," she thought, because it's much easier to guard someone if they don't know you're guarding them. Unfortunately, Tuarwen did not know he was a light sleeper. She heard something click into the lock, she instinctively clutched the daggers harder.

The door opened a crack, letting a dim light fall into the room. A black hooded figure stepped into the room, he closed the door softly behind him and threw back his hood. Tuarwen just barely kept her cry back. A Dark Elf. She could see the pointed ears and gold eyes in the murky light. Her King was the one trying to kill the Prince, but why send their best assassin to Asgard then? Of course, they probably had no idea she was going to be assigned to guard him. There were too many questions that needed to be answered. A fleeting thought entered her mind, what if they sent her to Asgard and attempted to get her to help the assassins? Tuarwen wasn't sure if she would do that, but there was no time to make up her mind at the moment. The sound of a dagger being unsheathed brought her back to the task at hand. She had intended to slit his throat and avoid a general combat, but she was too busy with her quick thoughts to notice the dagger had been poised for the Prince's heart. There was no time to finish this quickly and soundlessly. Tuarwen knew her lack of attention would come back as a punishment.

The Assassin raised the dagger high in the air. He was about to plunge down when Tuarwen slammed into the side of him. He fell to the ground. She held her dagger against his throat, but he was fast and able. He rolled into her and knocked her to the ground. They both rose to their feet at the same time. Tuarwen didn't waste her time, she had dropped both her attack daggers on the floor, so she pulled out a throwing dagger and hurdled it at the assassin. He deflected it easily and it landed next to the door. He ran straight for her, she was forced to use one of her throwing dagger to block his stronger attacks. Her strength was not enough compared to his and she soon had several small cuts and gashes on her arms and chest. With each attack, she was forced to back up, until she was backed against a cabinet. She grabbed his outstretched arm and jumped slightly into the air, she used her feet to push off the cabinet. She whirled around him, pulling his arm with her. She twisted it and kneed him in the back, forcing him to fall to his knees. She pulled his other arm around with lightning speed before he could react. With one hand she held both his twisted arms and with the other she held a barbed dagger against his throat. The barbs buried themselves into skin, Tuarwen could already feel blood coating her hands from his skin. She leaned over to speak into his ear. Her hair had fallen from her head and tangled in her braid, until it finally fell apart completely and brushed against the head of the man in front of her.

"Are you ready to die? Because that's what happens when you fail," he tensed ever so slightly. Death was part of her job, she didn't stop to think if it was what Asgard would accept.

"And what authority do you have?" he questioned, her dagger bit into his skin harder. He winced, keeping back a cry of pain.

"I'm an assassin," replied Tuarwen, satisfied at the way he froze. "I don't need authority." Her voice was dangerously indifferent. She was about to push the dagger through his throat when she heard an authoritative voice.

"Wait," the voice was low and smooth. Daring her to speak back. Tuarwen turned her head to see the Prince standing and watching her intently.

"Authority is not given to you to end the life of an assassin," Tuarwen sent a glare his way, he responded by raising both eyebrows at her. She didn't back down her glare even when he turned his gaze away from her and back to the assassin in front of her.

"Why have you done this?" his voice was laced with fake concern. Tuarwen knew that no Dark Elf assassin would fall for such a fake act. And she was right.

"Don't make false acts with me, Prince," he spat, Tuarwen kneed him in the back harder, she didn't really care if he disrespected Loki, but she might as well make it look like they were on the same side.

"You have nothing to fear if you corporate with us," his voice had a slight edge to it. He circled the assassin like a predator. The assassin said nothing. Tuarwen guessed Loki would probably do something soon if he didn't get an answer, he didn't strike her as being someone who was overly patient. Tuarwen nearly jumped when the door was hurled onto the ground and several guards rushed into the room. They surveyed the sight before them, daggers lying on the ground, blood littering the floor in small drops, and a small woman, arms soaked in blood, pinning a Dark Elf down.

"Get the Allfather," one of the guards ordered. One rushed out the door, while two others took the assassin by the arms and chained his hands.

"What happened?" asked one of them, who appeared to be the leader. He glanced back and forth between Tuarwen and Loki, the former was busy picking up her discarded daggers. Loki glanced at Tuarwen.

"That is what I would like to know, captain. I awoke to the very sight you saw," both looked to Tuarwen, directing the conversation to her.

"He was attempting the assassination of your Prince," she was stating the obvious and she knew it. She really wasn't interested in explaining at the moment, she wanted to get her daggers cleaned and strapped back on her body, in case someone decided to attack again.

"Then, who are you and how did you get in here?" asked the Captain. She glanced at the Prince his eyebrows were raised, he was silently questioning her motive. Who knew, maybe she was an associate of the assassin and they had a fall-out.

"I was here when the attempt took place, you can ask the King about me, he will answer your questions," she glanced back at the Prince."Smart girl,"said his smirk. She glared at him. It was really quite simple, they wouldn't listen to her because neither of them had seen her before and they had no idea who she was, so she just referred them to the highest ranking official in Asgard. If he didn't know who she was, no one would. If he did, no one could doubt her. Wild footsteps were heard in the hallway, along with several breathless voices. The guard was back and the King and Queen were with him. Frigga did not hesitate to run to her son and embrace him tightly. He tentatively wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head. The King took in the scene before him, he looked from the prisoner, to his son, to Tuarwen. She gave a stiff nod back to him. Tuarwen felt gentle hands cup her face, she turned to see the Queen, moving her hands from her face to her arm.

"Thank you," she said softly, depths of emotions behind her face and voice.

"I was merely doing my job," replied Tuarwen in a small voice while glaring at the Prince who had a scheming smile on his face

"I thank you anyway," replied Frigga. She turned back to to her son. She decided to take the moment to tell her son about the situation he was landed into, seeing that he was acquainted with the girl now. She would risk the anger of the small woman.

"This girl is your guard, Loki. She's from Svartalfheim," Loki raised an eyebrow to the last part. A Dark Elf, in Asgard? How had she survived this long? She dared him with her eyes, daring him to say a word.

"Svartalfheim?" asked the prisoner, turned her eyes to him, studying the silver hair, golden eyes, and pointed ears. "Ah, yes. Tuarwen, the worthless child who's Father hated and couldn't stand the sight of. Its been years since I've seen you. How did you come to Asgard? Did you defect?"

Tuarwen crossed over to him, no one stopped her. She stood directly in front of him, he was smiling a little too broadly, almost sickeningly so to the Asgardians. Manipulation was not something they dealt with every day. So they were surprised that Tuarwen didn't react to the things the assassin said about her. Tuarwen had learned to let insults like that fall away, she didn't notice them because she heard them almost every day back in Svartalfheim. It was the part about defecting that made her angry. Mostly because she didn't want to be there in the first place.

"Your blatant King sent me and if you ever get back, tell him I said that," Tuarwen turned away, prepared to leave the conversation at that, but the prisoner had other ideas.

"You know, I never did like your honesty," Tuarwen whirled back around and studied his self-satisfied face with blazing eyes. They threatened him to say one more word. "Maybe it's because your honesty is the only thing left you didn't learn," he ended with a smile. Tuarwen's control snapped, she drew a dagger and would have slit his throat there, no one would have been able to stop her fast movements, she would have the act finished by the time they realized what was going on. One thing she realized fairly quickly was Asgardians were slow. She lunged towards him at alarming speed, satisfied by the way his eyes grew bigger and filled with fear. She was not allowed to have her revenge though. She underestimated the Dark Prince, he was in front of her and holding her back before she had covered even half of the distance. She was disgusted by the way he held her, his body tense and his arms barely touching her, he was repulsed by her presence and touch. Her anger cooled and she shoved him away from her, she took one last look at the trembling prisoner,( Her near murder of him seemed to quell his courage.) and turned to collect her cloak.

"Take him to the prisons and as for you, Tuarwen. I thank you for saving my son," Loki tensed and Tuarwen raised an eyebrow."But?"It asked. "But, I remind you that in Asgard we do not seek revenge for someone's words. Is that understood?" She nodded to confirm, but not without leveling him with her stare, he understood that looking at her for too long would not be a good thing. Her very gaze could cause fear in even the most courageous hearts. The guards left with the prisoner and the King and Queen left shortly after they did. Tuarwen slipped out of the room before the Prince could protest, he was dying to speak with her, Tuarwen knew that, probably to insult her and ask about her past. He hardly knew who she was, but he would ask her to reveal her best kept secrets. Tuarwen resigned herself for a long night.

She crept back into the room, hoping maybe Loki had given up on wanting to talk to her and had gone to bed. She closed the door and turned around, there he was sitting in the chair reading. He looked up to meet her gaze. His eyes fell to the bucket and cloth she held in her hands.

"A servant will clean up the mess, don't worry about it," he said, his eyes dropping back to the book he was reading. Tuarwen didn't seem to hear him as she dropped to her knees and began to scrub the blood off the floor. The frail scabs on her arms opened up with each movement she made. Her sleeves were covered in blood. Loki looked up from his book to see her on the floor ignoring his statement, he smiled and shook his head, he was about to return to his book when he noticed something wet on her sleeve, both her sleeves as he brought his eyes to investigate. The light was dim, but he could see both her sleeves and upper chest were soaked. She couldn't have gotten water over such a large area. He watched as she placed her hand on floor. He noticed something dark dripping and pooling around her hand. Blood. He closed his book and walked over to her. She didn't look up, if she noticed him walking towards her, she was ignoring him. He was standing in front of her looking at her drenched arms, how many cuts did she have? He dropped to one knee and rather forcefully took hold of her wrist. His sudden movement caught her off guard and she didn't have time to move away before he was examining her well formed wrist. She stared at him, his actions and reasons foreign to her. He turned it over, fingering all the rips in her sleeves. He counted at least half a dozen on her right arm and one rather long and deep gash across her chest. He took a deep breath, how could she keep from crying out in pain? Surely it was unbearable. Dark Elf weapons were meant to cause pain, immobilizing their opponents by the smallest of cuts. The barbed edges of their daggers would rip the skin instead of slice it. He still had scars from times he had fought them. They did not go way easily, immediate care was required to keep them from being permanent. He could feel her gaze on his head, questioning him. He looked up to meet it."Why?"It asked."Why does it matter?" He shrugged slightly, untying the strings that kept her sleeve attached to her wrist. She tried to pull her arm away.

"I'm only doing this to make sure you're healthy if I need you. You need to be in good condition to guard me," he said numbly.

Of course, that was not the only reason he was doing it, but he wasn't going to tell her that he pitied the life she had led and that he felt he owed it to her after he had just sat back and watched her take on the assassin. He also knew what Dark Elven children went through and it sounded like she had a worse childhood than usual. She stopped moving and let him gently pull her sleeve up her arm, even with his caution, he still pulled clotted blood with the fabric. Tuarwen couldn't stand it anymore, it was too painful going slow. She swatted his hands away and took hold of the edge of the fabric, gritting her teeth, she pulled upward as fast as she could. It felt unbearable, but it was over soon enough. She pulled the sleeve over her shoulder and let Loki take her arm again. He held it softly, like it would crumble in his grasp. Tuarwen didn't know how to react, she'd never been treated so gently by anyone before, she reminded herself that he was only doing it to keep her healthy. He wiped the blood from her arm, it stung, but Tuarwen made no mention of it. His slender fingers touched each wound and lingered until they were gone. All the wounds slowly and painlessly disappeared, not leaving a trace, or a single scar. He moved on to her other arm, grasping her shoulder softly. A deep gash ran from the front of her right shoulder to across her upper chest. She had lost the most blood from that wound, Loki slid his fingers over her shoulder, smoothing the skin as it knit itself back together. His eyes slipped through the ripped fabric of her shirt and he watched as the wound slowly faded. He smiled, satisfied with his work, his hand still placed on her shoulder. He was going to remove it, when he felt something uneven on her skin. The light was dim, so he had to move his face within inches of her skin to see the crisscrossed shapes of uneven skin. Scars, hundreds of scars, up and down, sideways, diagonal. Some crossed over old ones. How many years must it have taken to gain so many scars? She pulled away from his grasp. He turned his eyes up to her with raw mortification. "Where? How?" They asked as he found his voice all but gone. She stared at him, or rather almost through him. Something disarmed him, something about her eyes. They seemed so empty, like there wasn't a person inside of the body, no mind, or will. Nothing, completely empty and alone. Alone, her father had not loved her, so she must have been raised in an orphanage. Somehow her path had led her to elite training. Training for assassins, did she ever have anyone at her side? Anyone to love? He knew what it was like to be pulled from your only source of love and comfort. That was why he risked the cost for bringing back his mother. She was the only one he truly loved unconditionally and trusted completely. It was never part of the plan for her to get killed. He never intended coming back to Asgard once he escaped, but here he was, home and he was happy. He may never fit in, but he was a prince again and he was near his mother.

Loki wondered if it was possible to remove so many scars, the healers could take away one or two, but they had never had to remove so many before. He decided he would talk to the Healers tomorrow. Seeing that she wasn't going to answer his question, he got up off the ground and looked around. This was the second time an attempt on his life was made in this room, but the first time that he had been saved by a mysterious woman, how did she know it would happen tonight? He thought about asking her, but it was late and he didn't feel like putting up with her answers. He glanced back at her, she was still staring at the floor, head bowed. He walked away.

"You should get some rest. It has been a long night," he said from somewhere out of sight. Tuarwen remained seated, thinking of her past and pondering the Prince's act of kindness. He only did it to keep her healthy, but no one had ever done even that much for her. The candles were extinguished and she was left in darkness. She waited for her eyes to adjusted to the darkness before she slipped off into her perch above the room. The canopy from his bed kept her from seeing the Prince, but she could hear his steady breathing, it was uneven. He was still awake. Tuarwen had no intention of getting any rest that night, she would stay awake and wait to see if anymore assassins came into the room and tried to kill Asgard's beloved Prince.

"Beloved indeed," she thought, she knew his story, he would have been in prison if he hadn't bargained for his mother's life and brought her back to Asgard. He was the one who fought Malkith with the other prince, whose lover was possessed by the Aether. Her King refused to get involved with the entire situation, but the Dark Elves were blamed for Malkith's foolhardiness. No one stopped to wonder why so many followed him, Dark Elves craved power, they had been taught from a young age to accept authority, especially authority that had power. Tuarwen was different she had no respect for people who flaunted their power. Malkith, her king, her father. Her father was no different from any other person from Svartalfheim, except he was more cunning. He made a show of obeying his king, but he was just biding his time until he was powerful enough to rebel. The memory of him stung, like a thousand dagger wounds, or a thousand strikes from a whip. How she remembered the dreams she once had, they all depended on one man, a man without a heart, a man without mercy. She hoped she would never have to see him again. She would rather die than appear before him and see the mockery and unsuppressed joy at her brokenness. As fate would have it though, she would probably be going back sometime. Something was wrong in Svartalfheim and she knew it. You don't just send your best assassin to Asgard, then turn around and attempt the assassination of Asgard's prince. Tuarwen was beginning to wonder if a Dark Elf assassin was hired by someone else. Someone power hungry. Assassins were only used by monarchs, they were almost a sign of power themselves, they were nothing more than a pawn for the monarchs to use. Nothing more, if one fell there was always another to take his place. It was an unbroken circle, it never changed. Nothing did, just because she was in a different world didn't mean anything. She was nothing more than a sign of Svartalfheim's subjection. A political pawn and a guard. Asgard would never be her home. How little did she know!


	4. Chapter 4

**Who are you really?**

Loki awoke to the sun shining in his room, his breakfast on his desk, and his guard nowhere to be seen. He wondered where she had gone, would she have left the room? He hated to admit it, but he felt safer knowing she was near. Maybe she was hiding behind something. He remembered the presence he had felt last night, but he never saw anything. Maybe she had a way to make herself invisible. He didn't know and he wasn't going to waste his time trying to figure it out, if he couldn't ask her the questions he wanted to, (She probably wouldn't answer them anyway.) he would just have to ask someone else. He would start with Frigga and if he had to, he would ask Odin. He remember he was going to ask Eir about Tuarwen's scars, as well. He smiled playfully, he was going to be kept busy by one girl. One mysterious girl, he sighed, he still knew so little about her. He mentally made a picture of her in his mind. He searched for anything that might help him know more about her. She was small and lithe, perhaps smaller and leaner than most Dark Elves.

"Yes," he thought. "Her build is much smaller than most Dark Elves." But what did that mean? She was a halfbreed maybe? Her eyes were amber, like honey, but they had blue mixed in with them, Dark Elves were not known to have blue eyes. And then there was the hair. Dark Elves never had brown hair. Hers was hazelnut brown with silver streaks, pigmentation was not lacking in it, it was a very rich deep brown. Her skin was ashy gray like the Dark Elves, but it had the slightest amount of tan in it as well. Maybe, if she was out in the sun more, it would be darker. Assassins moved in the shadows, avoiding the light of day as much as possible. Loki made a note to himself to get her in the sun more. She wasn't a Light Elf, she wasn't a Fire Elf, she wasn't Vanir, she wasn't Asgardian, and she certainly wasn't Jotun. What did that leave? Midgardian, perhaps? They would blend in with the Dark Elves the best. She had all the major attributes of a Midgardian, mainly a smaller and weaker body. But, the Dark Elves hated humans, how could one make its way to Svartalfheim, survive, and bear a child? It was a great mystery. He wanted to know more about her Father, but she wasn't open to him anyway and it sounded like he had treated her rather badly. Which would have made sense if she was half Midgardian.

Maybe he would ask the prisoner, he seemed to know something of her past. She probably wouldn't like people looking into her past though and she would follow him everywhere. He had to find a way to get to the prisoner without her knowing. He rubbed his hands in expectation. Nothing this interesting had happened in a long time. A mystery to uncover.

Tuarwen watched him from her spot up on top of the cabinet. He was reading contentedly, but she could tell he had something else on his mind, something dangerous. She kept watching him, waiting for him to do something, anything. He was capable of doing anything, which made him all the harder to guard. He continued to sit in the same spot for some time. It was some time before Tuarwen started to notice something off, the way he was moving the pages methodically, without any emotion, the way his eyes seemed out of focus, and the way his hands were a little too stiff when moving the page. She dropped from her perch, waiting for his reaction. When nothing happened, she slowly walked over to him. She reached out her hand and brushed his arm, or she tried to anyway. Her hand went through his arm. It was an illusion. It disappeared, dissipating into the air.

"He wouldn't dare," she thought, instead of taking chances, she ran out of the room.

He knew he could only fool her for so long and trying to run a double of himself and teleport at the same time was exhausting. He hoped it would be worth it in the end. The guards let him into the prison without hesitation. It didn't take him long to find the right cell, it was the one he had been sentenced to when he returned from Midgard. He shuddered at the thought of it. Somehow he gathered the courage to go inside. It was bare and cool. There were none of the comforts he had. The prisoner was chained to the wall. He was leaning against it with his legs outstretched. The complete picture of calmness and relaxation. A grin spread across the Assassin's face.

"Of all the people to come and visit me, I expect you the least. As quiet as you were, I thought you might be Tuarwen. I thought she would have been dying for company from her home."

"What do you know of her?"asked Loki, ignoring the man's insult. His smile was almost feral, as Loki paced the room. He didn't have time to play this man's game, the illusion would only keep Tuarwen away for so long. She would figure it out before too long, if she was as sharp as Loki thought her to be. Loki played the predator, he circled the Assassin, watching his every move and causing him to tense. He acted strong and brave, but he was really only a fearful child underneath the mask.

"What do you want to know? How she became an assassin? Or how she was given away as a child? How she was thrown from her Father's home when she tried to return? Any of those stories could take hours to tell and I presume your guard will not be pleased to find you missing and trying to find out about her past. She doesn't take well to curious people, or manipulators, or liars. I'm surprised you've survived this long," Loki glared at the assassin, Loki was a Prince, he was to be respected in all realms and by all people. Oh well, a few months in isolation would make him look at life differently.

"How long have you known her?" he faced the Assassin and stared straight into his icy amber eyes.

"I've known her since she was a child in the orphanage," Loki scanned his appearance, looking for lies. He couldn't detect any.

"Her Father is still alive?"the Assassin looked almost alarmed, he gulped down his fear and nodded once to agree.

"Why has she raised in an orphanage then?"the Prisoner returned to his animal instinct, crouching almost, like he was waiting for a chance to pounce. Loki wasn't about to give him that chance.

"Her Father hated her, no one knows why, but," he paused to look around, more for effect than anything else. "They say he hated her for being so small and weak. He was a nobleman and their children are expected to be perfect,"

Loki shifted uneasily, this sounded too much like his own childhood. Was the Assassin playing on his fears?

"But that is merely a rumor, the truth will probably never be known," he said slipping back against the wall.

"And why not?" Loki resumed walking around the Assassin. His step was more forced, he was trying to keep from strangling the man in front of him. His ease and calmness was infuriating, Loki was used to causing fear in the hearts of his fellow men. Accidents usually happened when others refused comply with his wishes.

"In case you haven't noticed, Tuarwen doesn't readily tell others anything," Loki twisted his head towards the Assassin, anger obvious on his aquiline features. His jaw was tense and set, he was going to pay for his insolence.

"So how have you learned so much about her?"

"Her Father and don't forget, I grew up with her," his control snapped, he shortened the distance between them and took him by the neck, lifting him high into the air.

"Do not mistake me for an idiot, Assassin. I know more than you think," Loki was about to threatened him by cutting off his airway for a few seconds, but hurried footsteps caused him to look to the entrance. Tuarwen was standing there, her face dangerously numb. She surveyed the situation before stepping into the prison. She hurled herself at Loki and caused him to fall to the ground and lose his hold on the Assassin. He stumbled to his feet as fast as he could, he had expected she would be angry, but he wasn't prepared for such a violent action. She was up before him and dragging him out the door by the arm. She exited the prison and drug him several feet, he was doing his best to keep up with her, but she was walking fast and he more than half leaned on her to keep his balance. She stepped out of the prison hall and into a secluded hall. She stopped and threw him into the wall. She had more strength than he had given her credit for, he could feel his back colliding with the wall and it was not painless. He righted himself briefly before staring into her eyes. He was surprised to see the emotionless mask on her face, he thought she would be furious at him for trying to get information about her.

"Don't ever do that to me again,"she stated with deadly calmness. "You could have been killed,"

"What?" he thought, she actually cares?

"What difference would it make if I was? I'm sure you would prefer I didn't exist anyway," he replied with the same indifferent voice, his eyes burned her, trying to understand what was going through her sharp mind.

"I will be held responsible for your death," she said indifferently, starting to walk away. Loki grabbed her arm. He was bemused.

"What do you mean?" he voice was calm, but soft. He was trying to be gentle, but Tuarwen saw it as manipulation.

"Unhand me,"she said, voice raising slowly. Loki did not know that one should take her threats seriously. He usually got his way by pulling his eyebrows up in a questioning and threatening way. Tuarwen would need more convincing than one look, she was used to physical beatings, manipulation was not needed.

"What is it you fear?" He asked, not noting the change in her stance and face.

Her reply was quick and avoiding. She whirled around him and took his arm with her, she kneed him hard in the back and he flew forward away from him. He groaned in discomfort, he pitied the prisoner inside. For being so small, she was strong. Her chest rose a little more from the exertion, but her voice was still calm and slow.

"I suggest you listen to me the first time I say something, I don't make threats lightly," she turned and walked away from him. He straightened his back and stared off at the woman swiftly walking away. He was bemused to why she did not react to his questions about her, but instead, was upset that he had tricked her.

Loki found himself heading in the direction of the Healer's Ward. He remembered he wanted to talk to Eir about Tuarwen's scars and if they could be removed. It probably wouldn't be easy if it would work. Of course, it would be even harder to convince Tuarwen to do it. He decided he would just ask now and talk to her when she was a little more open. If she ever changed. He was skeptical about anything changing in the small girl, but it was worth a try.

He didn't see her, but he knew she was trailing silently behind him. He couldn't hear anything, but he could feel eyes watching his every movement. He arrived at the Healer's Ward, he felt the eyes move away from him. It was slightly disturbing not being able to see her, but knowing she was always there and guarding him. He wondered where she had gone this time, he knew her eyes were no longer on him, but where were they then? He shrugged his shoulders lightly and walked through the door. Eir was sitting at a table writing in a book. She looked up when she heard the door close, she was about to stand up to great the Prince, but he held a hand up to tell her stay where she was.

"Eir," he said inclining his head to her as acknowledgment. He grasped a chair and brought it near her desk before sitting in it. Eir turned and closed her book before giving her attention to the Prince.

"What may I do for you, my Prince?" Loki was uncertain, would Tuarwen really appreciate hearing this right now? He couldn't exactly get rid of her without looking like a fool. He'd just have to face her wrath if she did not like this.

"I had a question concerning the healing of scars,"Eir gave him her full attention, his knowledge of healing was not great, but he was always willing to learn more. She smiled at the memory of a small child sitting on a stool and watching her for hours, asking dozens of questions every minute. She wondered what had happened to the innocent child. She knew somewhere along the way he changed. He became too sensitive to what others said and before anyone knew it, he was living in the shadow of jealously. There was still a small glimmer of hope though, and it came in the form of love, he loved his mother so much, that he was willing to give up his freedom to save her life. Love was the only thing to bring him back to the life he once lost. Eir mused about women who might be able to help him. She found it strange that he had remained unmarried for so long and showed no signs of interest in finding a spouse. She doubted that there where any women in Asgard that would put up with his habits and constantly changing personality.

"And what is it you want to know?"she asked, coming out of her revelry.

"How many scars you can remove off of one person," he replied, Tuarwen hadn't made a move yet, so maybe she didn't mind, or maybe she was interested in having them removed. She didn't strike Loki as being vain, but what woman didn't want to look pretty?

"She's an assassin," he reminded himself. "Why would she need to worry about her looks? She was trained to blend in with the shadows and not be seen," but somehow he just couldn't get the feeling of her scarred arms out of his mind. The way her arms were covered in them, or the way they felt against his skin, deformed, tense, and threatening. It was like he could feel every injury and threat she had received in her life. Every sorrow and pain, everything she had been through, being cast away by her father first and then her country. She was unwanted and alone and he could feel it baring down on him and threatening to crush him, it forced him to not think, to not even feel. He could understand why she was silent and numb, it was the only way she could keep her sanity.

"I've never removed more than a dozen at once, but any number can be removed. Have you injured yourself extensively, my Prince?" she asked warily. "What has he done now,"she thought.

"Me?" he asked, voice resounding in disbelief."No, no, no, no, I'm merely curious if it's possible," he lied, voice smooth with deception. Tuarwen smirked from her place behind the door. He was gifted with the ability to lie and manipulate. She hated both traits, they hurt you more than anything else. She never had to lie in her art and she couldn't understand why a Prince would need to. Being fed lies was a terrible thing, the truth could sting, but a lie hurt more. People who told lies were too weak to listen to the truth, or they were too immersed in the lies they had created to believe the truth. She wondered why he was so interested in her scars, surely he had seen scars before? Perhaps not in the number that littered her body. She studied her hands, there were not nearly as many on there, she remembered the feeling of her own skin, it used to be soft and silky almost. Now, it was uneven and coarse, the look of it reminded her of victims of leprosy. It had a puffy and dying look to it. She was no longer able to distinguish them from each other, they were crisscrossed too many times to distinguish the different ones. There was only one that she could distinguish, she gripped her shoulder suddenly.

"No! Don't think about that," she told herself,using all her self will to drop her hand. Her grief all stemmed from one person, one action, one heartbreak. If she ignored it, she would be better off. Don't feel, was engraved in her head by numerous people and she finally realized it was the only way for her to survive in this world, but she found out too late. She had already felt too much and now, she only used it to escape her past and the feelings. The feelings that left her brokenhearted. The feelings that kept her awake at night, the dull throbbing pain in her stomach at the thought of him, the one person so many of her dreams had relied on. She was foolish to have thought them, but even now she still thought them occasionally. Having a home to call her own, a warm fire waiting when she got back from the pleasurable rides, and perhaps someone to love her and help her through the nightmares. She banished the thoughts before they could go any further. It was useless thinking them. They wouldn't get her anywhere. She was here for one purpose and one purpose only, she was a guard, or little more than a slave, really. Her life was tied to the Prince, if he died, she and half of Svartalfheim would be dead. She hated having to be tied to anyone, particularly a Prince who had a gift for lying and manipulation. She couldn't understand the King's concern and fear for Loki's well being. It wasn't like Loki actually cared for his father anyway. She knew the tales of his treachery, of what he did to Asgard and Midgard. How could his father still love him after all that he did? It was a mystery to Tuarwen, an assassin could be put to death if he displeases his king. Unless he was as good as Tuarwen, which if she displeased him, he just made her life as miserable as was possible. Death was one thing, but it was denied her, torture was another. Especially when he played with her, allowing her to have a hot bath before he tore her back to shreds with a whip. Giving her a softening lotion for her hands before burning them. Perhaps the most creative was the time he had given her a soft bed before making her stand, chained, a whole night in freezing rain. She had never been healthy before and she could not take the cold like others, so when she was finished with that ordeal, she caught a disease and remained sick for sometime. To make it worse her King sent her Jotunheim immediately after that. It wasn't until she was sent to Alfheim shortly after that, did she start to recover, but since then she was uncontrollably sensitive to the rain.

Tuarwen studied the woman in front of her, how she could have used a Healer after either a confrontation with her King or after she returned from a mission. She wondered how long she had been a healer while she studied her aged face. Soft lines of wisdom and experience lined it. Her dark hazelnut hair was pulled back into a knot against the back of her head. Her dress was gray and simple. Her arms were strong against her small body. Tuarwen's gaze alighted back on Eir's face. She studied the soft blue eyes, the pale lips that were pulled into a determined thin line and the face lined with of care and gentleness. Tuarwen's gaze snapped back to the healer's eyes. They were ringed with nostalgia as she answered the Prince's questions, tears threatening to fall. Her attention was returned to the conversation rather abruptly.

"Are you all right, Eir?" asked the Prince, gentleness and concern lacing his voice.

"Why, yes, of course. My eyes are just bothering me," she replied. Tuarwen could tell she was lying, the way her words were said rather flustered, the way she was tensed ever so slightly, or the way her face was without pain. If her eyes were really bothering her, Tuarwen would expect at least a small twitch of pain.

"It was a good try, but I know you're lying. What's really wrong?" Eir's sigh was rather dramatic as she smiled at him.

"I just can't trick you, can I? I just can't help but remember the little boy who used to sit there and bury me with questions. I sometimes wonder where that boy went,"she said truthfully.

"That boy is gone, I'm afraid he won't be coming back," replied Loki bitterly. Was that disappointment she heard in his voice? Did he really want to come back? Eir didn't say anything as she got up and placed her hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't give up hope yet. I feel like something is going to happen. Something that will change all of us," She walked past him to another room. Leaving Loki and Tuarwen to ponder her words. Eir didn't know about Tuarwen, but Tuarwen somehow knew Eir was talking about her. She didn't say if it would change for better or worse, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. What was going to happen? When? How? Too many question, no use in getting hopes up. Nothing was for sure. Loki finally left the room, Tuarwen trailed after him. She felt different, life didn't feel so oppressive and weighed down.

Several hours later, Loki was sitting in a chair and reading, he had been sitting there for some time, Tuarwen could feel her eyes drifting closed, she had to do something soon or she would fall asleep. She dropped from her perch and walked to the window, passing him, he didn't notice anything. She looked out and stared at the Training Grounds, it was sunny and breezy. She hadn't been out of the castle all day, the outside was quite tempting, but she couldn't leave Loki for a minute for fear of assassins. She looked to her right, toward the gates of the palace. People were coming and going, farmers, guards, seamstresses, servants. Tuarwen tensed, she noted an out of place shadow, it was deformed and not coming from any of the people. Another assassin. Why so many all at once? They couldn't know that the other one was captured, unless this was a screen and they were after something else. The Dark Prince was not exactly liked in Svartalfheim, but what could they really be after if not revenge? Asgard didn't have any of the Dark Elven treasures. But, perhaps there was something they wanted in the vault. She wouldn't put it past them, anything to give them more power. She would have to talk to the king and have him double the guard on the vault. Another long night was in store for her. She sighed, she could really use the sleep, her physical condition was in bad shape. She needed rest, food, and peace more than anything else, but they would be denied to her as long as she remained a slave to a nation. Something was stirring in the back of her head, she tried pulling it to the front of her mind, but she was interrupted by something brushing against her shoulder. She reached out quickly and pulled what ever it was to the ground. Pulling a dagger out she held the thing down with her knee and placed the knife against its throat. Her hair hung in front of her eyes, but she caught glimpses of something black and green. She took her empty hand away from its chest and pulled her hair back. She nearly gasped in surprise before struggling to her feet as fast as she could. She was going to kill him one of these days, maybe not on purpose, but certainly by accident. The way he kept surprising her was starting to grate on her nerves, she wasn't jumpy normally, but it seemed like ever since she got to Asgard she was constantly pulling a knife to somebody's throat. Maybe she had just heard too many stories about Loki's tricks.

"You know," he said, sitting up and massaging his throat. "You're going to kill me one of these days. I should get back at you for that," she sheathed her dagger while he got to his feet. When her eyes met his, she took a step back, realizing how close he was, but also because she felt intimidated by the height difference. He fairly towered over her. He took a step closer to her, she refused to move back again. He reached out to lightly touch her cheek, she reached out and grabbed his hand silently. She had no intention of letting him touch her.

"You don't look well, maybe you should get some rest," she silently looked at him. Leveling him with her icy stare, her eyes were not glaring, but neither were they kind, nor puzzled. They were simply empty, devoid of all emotion and inner thoughts. Like her actions were the only thing that defined her. It was strange, they were not afraid of the other at all. It was curiosity in Loki's case and merely a job in Tuarwen's. She backed away, pulling her cloak around her and disappearing before his very eyes. She slipped back up to the cabinet and remained there without moving for the rest of the day.

Loki settled back into his chair and looked around, he wondered where she hid herself. His eyes looked over to every corner, searching for shadows. He could perceive nothing with his sharp eyes. His eyes alighted on the roaring fire and he watched the flames dance and crackle. He remembered the feeling of her hand on his wrist moments ago, he unconsciously held his hand around his wrist. Her touch was unusually cold. That was not normal for a Dark Elf, they lived in a volcanic world the heat was common. Asgard did not have much of a different climate, except being colder in Winter. She should not have been as cold as she was. She wasn't looking quite well either. Pale and almost trembling. She was jumpy as well. Her face, flushed and feverish looking. Was she getting sick? He wondered if it was a physical or emotional ailment, if it was even an ailment. He wondered what went through her head at times, did she remember the people she had killed like he did? Did it tear her apart? Behind the emotionless mask, he knew that there lay a gentle heart. So how did a gentle woman survive with the pain she had caused? How did she live knowing all the lives she had ended? Guilt clawed its ugly head at his heart every day, threatening to take him apart piece by little piece. Tearing him to shreds, but his heart was already broken and waiting to be put back together, so nothing bothered him as long as he was just a shadow of what he once was. And he had tried so long to put himself back together, but there was too much behind why he had fallen apart. Too much in the way to build back together. The broken pieces laid scattered around, his family, a throne, his time with the Chitauri, and Jotunheim. All of them were reminders of what he could have been. Instead, his very identity was stripped away relentlessly. He was too mischievous and he let his jealousy get the better of him, and that's why he let the Jotuns in Asgard, that's why he egged Thor into seeking revenge, that's why he refused to let him back. That's why there was destruction all across the Nine Realms. For once he wanted his father's approval, but he took the wrong actions while trying to get it. He used deceit when he should have been honest, he created bloodshed, when he should have made peace and defended the innocent. So what did he do? Like a fool, he despaired and tried to end the miserable life he lived. He let go of everything, willing to die rather than live a life of regrets. Falling into the void, not sure how it would kill him, but knowing it would. That's when he fell to the Chitauri. That's when life began to take on a new meaning.


	5. Chapter 5

**WAR**

Tuarwen woke up to soft footfalls in the room. Startled, she silently jumped down, preparing to make a move if it was someone hostile. She was relieved to find that it was only a servant girl who was carrying Loki's breakfast. She wasn't ready to fight someone at the moment, she was feeling weak and unprepared. She was tempted to sneak out and go to the Marketplace to steal some food, she hadn't eaten since the day before last. She would have left if it wasn't for the strange feeling that gripped her heart. She knew there was another assassin close, just waiting for her to leave the prince's side for more than a few minutes. She couldn't afford it today, she also couldn't let Loki's magical tricks slow her down either. She'd have to talk to him about that, she wasn't looking forward to it. She decided to sit down in a corner and wait for him to wake up.

She let her mind wander to the assassin she knew was close. Dark Elf assassins were one-of-a-kind, they didn't try to fit in with anyone, they simply melded with the shadows and ignored everything around them. The world that they were living in for maybe only a few days, was nothing more than a pile of rocks to them, but not to Tuarwen. Every world was different and unique, Vanaheim was filled with forests and wheat fields. The cities were formed by magic and some even floated through the air. In Muspelheim, the ground was covered in lava and the atmosphere was thick with ash and smoke and blazing heat that could melt you. And Jotunheim, covered in an eternal winter, ice coated and freezing. It was never pleasant for a Dark Elf to step foot there, it was too different from Svartalfheim, too cold. She had been to many different places and had come to treasure each place for what it was. Each world had a bit of magic in itself. Each one was special in its own way. It didn't matter if it was different or hostile to her and her civilization, it was still beautiful and breathtaking. Asgard was slightly different though. There was something more to it, more magic, more beauty. Something housed beneath everything that you saw and felt, something bigger and more fulfilling. But it was only a shadow compared to what was calling her. There were times when she knew there was something more, something beyond the world she had lived and traveled in. It seemed so small to her, no matter that there was nine planets filled with life, no matter that there were worlds beyond the ones she knew. It was so small. She could feel something greater pulling her and everything around her, but she couldn't name it. Couldn't describe it, she awaited the day she could, somewhere in her subconscious, she knew that it would be the day that would change everything in her life and in the whole universe.

Tuarwen could hear faint rustlings from the bed. Judging from the quickened breathing, she could tell that he was waking up. Slowly, forcing her numb legs awake, she stood and threw open the curtains. The light streamed through the window, catching in the glass and reflecting into the room with a thousand colors. It was warm, bright, and inviting. She threw back her hood and let the warm sun kiss her ashen skin. She breathed deeply and contentedly, closing her eyes to the comforting feeling that was slowly drifting over her conscious. Her relaxed senses didn't catch the eyes starring at her from the bed, with it's now opened curtains. For a moment, Loki forgot that this was the broken woman that he had pondered and questioned for the last couple of days. She looked different, foreign to his eyes. A beautiful queen to behold, clothed in sunlight and shadows. Warm, but distant. At that moment, he held out the hope that one day she might know peace and love. That she might know a life a thousand ways different than the one she had led. But not yet, it would be quite awhile before that happened.

It took longer than Tuarwen cared to admit for her to realize that he was awake and was watching her. She didn't turn to him though, she waited for him to make the first move, and he did. He moved silently, Tuarwen did not hear him until he was nearly next to her. She made no move of surprise like he thought she would, not even the slightest tensing of the shoulders. She was relaxed and still, watching and waiting for the smallest sign of hostility.

Loki stood next to her silently, looking through the clear glass like Tuarwen, but he didn't keep his gaze from wandering to her queenly figure next to him. She turned and looked up at him suddenly, catching his gentle gaze, her own being as hard as a rock, piercing him with daggers.

"There are shadows moving in the darkness, it's not safe," she whispered mysteriously. He eyed her bemusedly. "Don't leave my sight for one second until I say it's safe," she finished. He nodded his understanding, wanting to ask more, but decided it would be hopeless. It wouldn't be likely for her to give away information easily and he wasn't in the mood to play her games. He sat down by his table and opened a book while Tuarwen walked to the door and listened. She opening it slightly, looking both directions before closing it again. She pulled her cloak around her and disappeared back into the shadows. She had warned him and completed part one of her mission, now it was just a matter of time before the assassins picked their time to strike.

Around midday, a guard came to summon them to the throne room. The assassin was going to be interrogated and both Loki and Tuarwen were required for it to proceed. With a stroke of forewarning, Tuarwen made sure that Loki carried several daggers with him. Her mind told her that now would be an excellent time for an attempt. She wasn't going to be caught unprepared.

They left his room and started off down the hallway. Tuarwen was trailing behind the prince, hood down, but still keeping to the shadows. Some openly stared at her, but quickly turned away when they were met with Tuarwen's harsh gaze. The halls still shone with gold light, but a murky gray in the shadows. The shadows dimmed the brightness of her eyes to the same murky gold of the halls, but it brought the blue out with strength. Her eyes would shine with light and in all places. Like her, no matter where she was, or what she was doing, she would always shine out with brightness. She was gold, pure, unaltered gold. Somewhere beneath the scars, she had a heart of gold.

The large doors to the Throne Room loomed up ahead. Tuarwen wasn't sure if she was ready for another encounter with Durion, she feared to do something she shouldn't. Asgard needed information from him, they needed to know why Svartalfheim was trying to assassinate Loki, who was behind it, and what their motives were. Tuarwen wondered what was going on in her old home, for the first time ever, she wished she had some way of seeing her home from a distance. She had a strange feeling that something wasn't right. A feeling of foreboding and danger, everything was like a tight coil waiting to be released and do its damage. Asgard was a bomb, the timer starting to wind down to the explosion. Tuarwen sensed the upheaval, she had sensed it at Svartalfheim before Malekith took control of the planet. She sensed it in Jotunheim before Loki nearly destroyed it. And she could sense it now, the Dark Elves were seeking revenge in Asgard, but it wasn't her king. No, it was someone with far more power and backbone, someone not afraid of taking risks and wasting lives. She may have been thinking about Svartalfheim, but she couldn't think of one person who would fit that description, she could think of more than a hundred.

The doors opened to them and Loki walked through, Tuarwen trailed behind him, senses alert and reaching out to all the corners of the room. She tensed when she reached out to the edges of the room, something was there, watching from the shadows. Waiting, intent upon death and destruction, but there was nothing there, at least visible. Something was going to happen, she could feel the energy seeping into her bones, giving her the strength to keep moving, the adrenaline of the game had kicked in. She followed Loki to the end of the Throne Room where the king and queen were standing. She stopped in front of them and slightly inclined her head.

"Tuarwen, as you are from Svartalfheim, I would like you to interrogate the prisoner. You will know how to get information out of him easier," said the king. She tensed ever so slightly, it wouldn't be an interrogation, it would be a war, a war of words and intimidation. The only thing that helped her was the fear that Durion had, fear of her ability to make him know pain. It was only a slight advantage though, Dark Elf assassins were remade to know pain. They suffered intense amounts of it in training. Poison, broken bones, embedded knives, and burns, hours upon hours of torture, until you were numb. Only a machine, no longer a person with opinions or emotions. Nothing more than a tool of the royalty.

Tuarwen watched with guarded eyes as two Asgardian guards brought the prisoner into the hall. He looked no different from the moment he was imprisoned, a little worse for wear, but still wearing the same amused smile. Tuarwen told herself that the first thing she would do in the 'interrogation' was remove that smug smile. It was too unsettling for her. The prisoner was brought to the center of the hall, in front of the king's throne. Tuarwen looked around her. The Allfather was seated on his throne, with Frigga standing to his left and Loki a few steps away to his right. A woman flanked Frigga a few steps down the dais. Tuarwen assumed it was the Lady Sif, the female warrior of Asgard. Tuarwen turned back to the prisoner and walked down the dais towards him. Her stare intent upon him, it was numb and emotionless, intimidating to the Asgardians, but useless against an assassin. Durion smiled sweetly.

"The great and mighty Tuarwen is to interrogate me? Oh please, who's idea was this?" Tuarwen remained silent to his taunting, she stood in front of him and returned his laughing gaze with her hard one. His smile faded when she started a stare down. He shifted uneasily, but still met her iron gaze. She would not lift her stare until he admitted her dominance. His eyes jerked to the floor for a fraction of a second and that's all Tuarwen needed to begin.

"Your mission was to eliminate the prince of Asgard, I am sure they're are many who would like to do this, but never have there been such organized efforts. Who leads you?" When he did not answer, Tuarwen started walking around him, her gaze shifted to the door at the side of the hall, it lead back to the prison. She paused for a moment, her eyes had caught a shimmer on the wall. The whole wall was shimmering, distorting the golden hues. How many were there? Durion's voice broke her out of her thinking.

"He is a wolf, counseling even the highest of authorities," he had become uncomfortable with her silence and the fact that he couldn't see her. It made him nervous, more than he cared to admit. So he offered her a riddle.

"Please, not him. Anyone but him," begged Tuarwen in her mind. It had been years since she had begged, even in her thoughts. A pit of fear fell into her stomach. She never wanted to see him again, never even wanted to hear anything about him.

"Why?" was her simple reply, she needed to know why he authorized this. Durion didn't reply. Tuarwen was losing patience and time, the shimmering against the wall was covering a larger area and fading, signaling movement away from it. She pulled out a knife, flipped it in the air, and held it against the prisoner's throat, pulling his long hair back to make easy access.

"Why does he wish for war?" she had lowered her voice to a whisper, desperation filled her. "I have had enough of your stalling, Durion. Answer me," nothing, he remained quiet. "Don't think I will hesitate to torture you," he laughed, he dared to laugh. She pushed her dagger further into his throat, turning his laugh into a cough and covering her hands with slick blood.

"You think torture will change my mind, Tuarwen? You have grown naive in your exile," he coughed out. His voice raspy from the pressure to his throat. Tuarwen did not release the pressure from her hold on his throat, but he somehow managed to get out his poisonous thoughts.

"We could leave, Tuarwen," he said quietly, but loud enough for all in the room to hear and question Tuarwen's loyalty, if she had any. "You could get us out of here. We could leave, we could go back to where we belong." Tuarwen turned her gaze back to the wall, she ignored Durion's words, they stung, but there was a more important task at hand. It was now or never. She glanced at Loki, he was gazing at her with a. . . Hurt expression? What would he have to be hurt about? She wanted to somehow beg him to trust her, to let him know that it was alright, but she decided against it. Maybe she liked making things difficult for herself, but she always chose the harder way, especially when it involved working with other people.

Tuarwen made her move, it was a move that surprised and shocked everyone around her. Durion, Loki, Sif, and all of Asgard. They expected she might listen to the prisoner's words, but they never would have thought she would be so stupid as to try something in front of all the guards. But she did, she hurled herself at one of Durion's guards, knocking him to the ground and hitting his head. She threw herself at the other, she knocked him off balance. She attached herself to his back, making him even more off balance. He fell backwards, just before he hit the floor, Tuarwen crawled from under him and let him hit the floor hard. With his guards out of the way, Tuarwen drug Durion toward the entrance that opened into the great hall and led back toward the prison. Appearing to double-cross the Asgardians, the shimmering figures of the Dark Elven assassins let her through. She reached the door and looked back to see the throne room swarming with Dark Elves, the royal family and the Lady Sif were able to hold back the assassins. She worried that she would get back too late to do anything, but she had something more important to attend to at the moment. She was through the door and half way down the hallway before Durion even thought about asking her. "Where are we going?" he asked with his hoarse voice, Tuarwen's dagger had caused more damage than just a little blood.

"Isn't it obvious?" she exclaimed quietly, not stopping one step. She doubled her speed when she heard a large explosion behind her. She turned a corner sharply and started running, dragging Durion behind her.

"This isn't the way out," Durion whispered between strained breathes. Tuarwen had taken the hallway back to the prison and back to some order, the Asgardian guards were unharmed here. Going about their daily tasks, ignorant of the invasion.

Tuarwen threw the prisoner into one of the guards and looked at him disinterestedly, but a small smolder of anger was hiding behind her numb gaze, which sparked her reply.

"Do you really think me that stupid or naive, Durion?" she snapped, the guards kept their distance, sensing this was not something they wanted to get involved in. "Give me a reason why I would want to return," she breathed quickly, thinking about the place that had been her home for over a half a millennial. There was nothing worth returning for, no memories, joys, anything. There was nothing, only a void and empty dream. Asgard may not have been her home, but it was possibly the closest home she would ever have.

"Tuarwen," he replied soothingly, mocking concern lacing his melodious voice. He took her hand and stroked it softly, she gave him a cool glance. "Where is your loyalty?" She snapped, but in a small way. She threw him off of her and replied with heat.

"My loyalty lies with those who want it," She said, the gold in her eyes flashing. "Not with those who throw me from their land," she left him with the guards, trusting them to make sure he was locked back up, but his calm voice kept her from leaving, she whirled around. He had said something, something important. She walked back and leveled him with her icy stare. He barely lasted thirty seconds before giving up information that she needed so badly.

"Echor ned Agarwaen." he murmured, Tuarwen froze at the phrase. It was uncommonly used in Svartalfheim, but the times she had heard, it signaled one thing: War. The phrase would run through the streets, sending the news out to the people and creating soldiers willing to die for a war. But this was different. She didn't think Echor ned Agarwaen just meant war, she felt there was a second meaning to it. And whatever war that came, would not be a few soldiers dying, protecting their people. No, it would be a massacre. The slaughtering of hundreds of innocent people. But she knew nothing for sure, she only felt it in her heart. Wait, heart? Since when did she feel things?

She rushed through the hallway, back to the throne room. She could still hear the sounds of a battle from the end of the hallway. She knew someone was still alive if a battle was still going on. She didn't know who though. She slowed down near the door and pulled her cloak around herself, making her invisible to the naked eye. She opened the door enough to see around and surveyed the scene in front of her. The assassins had gotten bold, their silver hair floated in the windless air, freed from the bondage of it's hood. The room was flooded with Dark Elves and the corpses of dead Asgardians, the royal family was still alive, but no doubt tiring quickly from the mob of assassins they were holding back. Tuarwen saw that Lady Sif was joined by three soldiers, she presumed they were the Warriors Three, she would leave investigating for later. There was a battle to be fought at the moment.

She slipped through the door and nearly collided with a Dark Elf. Good. They didn't know she was there. She slipped through the assassins and made her way without conflict to the bottom of the dais. Then, throwing back her hood, she joined the fight. On the side of the Asgardians, she would remain loyal to them as long as she saw fit, and as long as they desired her loyalty. Durion was right, this was a war, and Tuarwen was not trained to fight a war, but she managed to put up a stiff resistance against the swarming soldiers trying to get to the dais. The more she looked around the room and the more Dark Elves she took down, the more she realized something. They weren't assassins. These were soldiers, not trained killers.

Tuarwen had kept one eye on her enemy and one on Loki, she wasn't about to let anything harm him. She couldn't afford to. But sometimes, she would just stop and watch him. Watch his raven hair flying and the deadly efficiency he would take down the Dark Elves. He fought with fluid and graceful motions, she wondered how long he had trained in the quiet of his room. Trained to become a deadly warriors that the Nine Realms would fear. He fought without reserve, with attention to every person in the room. He was alert and cautious. He sent daggers through the air to his targets and in the chaos of the room, had somehow managed to avoid hitting any of the Asgardians. That took skill and precision. It had taken Tuarwen years to perfect her dagger throwing, she wondered how long it had taken him.

The numbers in the room had been reduced, but still they seemed to come, from the shadows, through the hallways, behind pillars. They were everywhere. Loki had somehow ended up halfway across the throne room, Tuarwen close behind. They fought almost side-by-side, only a few feet apart. They covered the side that the other could not see. Loki was involved in hand-to-hand combat with only a small dagger, but it was enough. Tuarwen was hurling knives in every direction. Always with the same calm, cool manner, nothing fazed her, nothing could get past the walls that she put up. On the outside she may have appeared numb, but on the inside there were cracks. Small cracks, ones where she recognized the men she killed, and she felt. . . What? What did she feel? Guilt, anger, despair? She hadn't felt like this since her first mission, her first kill. This wasn't even a mission and she felt guilty for what she was doing. What had happened to her? What was happening to her?

She momentarily forgot where she was and what she was doing, she wasn't brought back from her revelry until she was knocked to the ground by Loki. She looked up to see a dagger lodged in the pillar that she was standing in front of a few seconds ago. There was enough of a lull in the fighting for Loki to offer her a hand up. She took it and pulled herself up with some effort, that fall was going to result in a good painting of bruises. She didn't take any time to recover, she was slicing the air with her daggers before anyone else could harm her. Right now it was a war for survival, nothing else, just a bloody fight to live another day. The floor was becoming thick with blood, it flowed down in small rivers, coating the lustrous gold. Tuarwen had to be careful, or she would end up on the floor again, this time she might not have gotten up. This time the dagger might just have hit its target, it could have meant the end to her.

She kept one eye on Loki occasionally, watching him fight, he was graceful and deadly. She almost shuddered watching him take down six soldiers single-handed with ease. This was the result of his training, years of being considered inferior to Thor, when in reality, he was the superior, in battle and in cunning. He was gifted with a strong mind and the ability to wield magic, he was known throughout the Nine Realms for the strength of his gift. He was using it well today to conjure daggers.

Tuarwen was relieved to see the number of elves becoming smaller and smaller, the fighting was still furious, but at least it wasn't as suffocating as it was. But there was still enough of the assassin soldiers to cause injury. Tuarwen no longer had to dance to avoid flying daggers, there were no more flying at her, there were bigger targets to acquire, such as the royal family. Tuarwen had kept an eye on Loki during the whole ordeal, he was skilled and she had little to fear, but only one small mistake could end up with him dead and her planet destroyed in Asgard's wrath. It wasn't until she stopped to catch her breath that she noticed the assassin taking his aim for a target she couldn't see from behind the pillar she was leaning against. She had an uneasy feeling which caused her to look around at his target. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw it was Loki, he had his back turned, focused on another target. She could yell at him and tell him to move, but he could easily be distracted by her and get knifed by the other assassin, she wasn't going to take that chance. She ran out from the behind the pillar and race toward him as fast as she could. It felt like she was watching it in slow-motion, all she could feel was the exhaustion in her legs as she tried to reach him before the dagger lodged itself in his neck. With all the strength she had left, Tuarwen jumped and hurled herself at him wrapping herself around his back and pushing him to the ground. They both dropped to the floor, Tuarwen rolled away and tripped the approaching assassin Loki had been fighting, she plunged her knife into his heart quickly, in the most painless way she could. She realized something was dripping onto the floor below where she was crouched, something deep, dark red. She looked up to her shoulder and saw the dagger embedded there, she could see the barbed point protruding from her shoulder. The iron odor of blood permeated her air. She stared at the dagger, not quite believing that she hadn't noticed the feeling of it sinking into her muscle. It was hard to miss a sharp ripping dagger sinking into your skin, and she knew that. If she left it in, she would be in a world of pain, but if she took it out, she risked bleeding out, or cutting a nerve and immobilizing her arm. But what choice did she have? Loki was running out of the hall, Sif close behind him. She had no doubt he was making sure the Vault was safe, if the Dark elves managed to take any of the precious treasures in that room, Asgard was done for. Smashing her teeth together, she pulled the dagger out as fast as she could, pulling straight forward. A sound did not come from her mouth, but the sound of flesh ripping from her shoulder was enough to make some sick. There was only one person watching her. Frigga was shocked when Tuarwen pulled the dagger from her shoulder, choosing to continue fighting when she could have easily left the battle injured.

Tuarwen ran after the echoing footsteps, leaving a trail of blood behind her. The hallways were mercifully empty and void of Dark Elves. Tuarwen stopped at a crossroad, listening intently and stopping to put pressure on her wound in hopes of stopping the bleeding. She moved onward in the direction she faintly remembered was the way to the Vault. When she could no longer hear footsteps she increased her pace. What if something had already happened to them and she was too late? Determination and adrenalin pushed her forward, past empty hallways and dark corners. Gold walls blurred in her vision as she ran past them, they created intimidating images behind her eyes, like she was running through a wall of elven cloaks. What if she was running through them? She wanted to stop and make sure, but she knew she couldn't, she had to keep moving. She saw the looming doors of the Vault ahead of her and she breathed a sigh of relief, even more so when she heard voices. She stopped just outside of the doors and for some reason beyond her comprehension, she pulled up the hood to her cloak. What was she wanting to hide from? Even she didn't know, maybe she was hiding from Loki and Sif, maybe she didn't want them to see her, but why? She entered the room and stepped backwards to stand by the doors, she could see anything that moved from there.

"It's strange, I can't understand why they haven't touched the treasures here," commented Loki, catching his breath from the sprint to the Vault. Tuarwen perked up her ears when he started to speak.

"Perhaps they do not know of the Vault, perhaps it is only a rebel band of soldiers," replied the Lady Sif, warily watching the room.

"Do you really believe that, Sif? You saw how they fought, you saw their equipment. Do you really believe they are just rebels?"

"Not for an instance," replied Sif with a smile. Her smile faded when she had short memories from the Throne Room. "Who was the girl? The one interrogating the prisoner and fighting with you?" She added when Loki seemed confused.

Loki glanced at Sif cautiously, he didn't want any trouble with her and he knew how she could be outspoken when it came to people and the threats they could cause. He replied slowly and with care. "She is my guard,"

"Where did she come from?" Sif countered immediately, there was something about making Loki nervous that gave her a sense of pride. Knowing she could play games with the trickster made her very proud.

"Why does it matter?" Loki replied indignantly.

"She's a Dark Elf, isn't she?" asked Sif, she knew her answer when Loki did not reply. A small hidden smile of victory filled her. "Do you trust her?"

"Yes," he stated quietly. He did trust her, he trusted her to keep him safe and to do what was right.

"How do you know we can trust her? What if she was sent here for a purpose?"

Loki's head shot up, a calm burning fire resided in his eyes. "What are you suggesting, Sif?"

Sif decided to choose her words carefully, she was treading in deep waters. She could tell Loki was starting to form an attachment to the girl, it would start with a feeling of protectiveness and the longing to do anything for her, it would end in heartbreak for him. As much as Sif despised him, she didn't want to see him get hurt again. Didn't want to see him go on the rampage again.

"What if the Dark Elves planted her here to gain our trust and then she turns on us at an opportune moment? In the middle of the night or in the middle of a battle? I watched her fight, she is deadly and with the element of surprise who knows if we will be able to stop her," Sif certainly didn't want to fight her, and she wasn't sure if Loki would want to either. Besides the Allfather and the queen, they were the best warriors in Asgard. Take them out of the picture and Tuarwen could cause serious damage.

If Sif didn't think Loki was protective of the girl before, she was sure now. She didn't know how to describe the fire behind his eyes, it was a blazing full flame by now. His voice was strained when he answered, she knew he was trying not to lash out at her.

"She has had many chances of turning on me and causing damage. The fact that she hasn't taken them should make her innocent in your eyes," Loki began to walk away from Sif, he was afraid what he would do if she continued on this subject. He would remain loyal to Tuarwen until she was proven guilty. He almost managed to get away before Sif stopped him again, she held him by the arm and looked up at him in an almost caring look, or at least as close to caring as she could come.

"Just don't hurt yourself, Loki. Some things are better left unsaid," he was confused, what was she talking about? He almost asked her, but he was interrupted by a noise. He looked up to see something come rolling down the stairs, or rather someone. He shouted to alert Sif, but in the end, he simply pushed her out of the way and jumped sideways to avoid being tripped up. He was surprised to see a familiar head of brownish-gray hair pinning a Dark Elf to the ground. Sif stood up next to him and together they watched the strange scene play out. At first they thought Tuarwen would just slit his throat and let it be done, but they watched as her face went from impassive to strangled surprise and horror. She nearly lost her hold on the dagger, the man beneath her chuckled.

"It's nice to see you too, Tuarwen. Now do me a favor and help me up," Tuarwen nearly growled and gripped the handle on her knife harder. She pushed down on his forehead and slipped the dagger against his throat. A flash of alarm passed over his face.

"Come now, Tuarwen. You wouldn't kill me," a hint of conflict flashed through his voice. Before anyone could get one word out, Tuarwen had sunk her dagger into his heart, her alarm was replaced with raw and broken anger.

"I'm not your pupil anymore," she spat, watching him take his final breaths.

Loki looked at Sif, who looked at him. Both were unsure what to do. Loki decided it would be best to get Tuarwen and get back to the Throne Room and try to sort out what had just sent Asgard into an unofficial war with Svartalfheim. It scared him to see how still she was sitting, just staring at the dead body in front of her. Her face had returned to her impassive cold mask, but there was something different about it now. It looked almost tired, exhausted from what she had just done. Loki could almost see the memories stirring behind her eyes, filling the void with hundreds of years of exhaustion, pain, despair, and nothingness. The memories seemed to put her in shock. Loki approached her slowly and knelt next to her, he reached out and took hold of her chin, she did not fight him when he turned it towards his own face. He searched her face, he couldn't discern what was going through her head, but he knew it wasn't pleasant for her.

Sif watched the interaction without interrupting, something was different about the girl. She wasn't like anything Sif had fought before, she seemed harmless. Nothing more than a child. A broken and scared child. Sif felt useless just standing there, so she decided to look over the dead Dark Elf. She knelt down beside the lifeless body and removed the hood from his face, she was met with a pair of golden ghost-like eyes. She noticed immediately the wrinkles around his eyes, thick heavy wrinkles. He wasn't young like the other soldiers she had fought, he was old and battle hardened. He had experience where as the dead men littering the Throne Room were merely boys. This one must have been waiting for them to separate themselves from everyone else and become prey to assassins. Would this game ever end? Sif wouldn't admit it, but in her heart she knew that Asgard was not able to handle assassins, they weren't built for secrecy and quickness. They were built for wars and frontal attacks. Which meant that Tuarwen had saved them, she knew what to expect. She was watching over them.

Loki was worried about Tuarwen, she wasn't responding to any of his movements or gestures. She wasn't even looking at him, it was like she was seeing through him. It was strange to see the normally strong and powerful woman shut down and crack. But it was more than strange, it was concerning when she didn't acknowledge his existence. He tried touching her face and kissing her forehead, no response. He tried breaking her continuous stare by waving his hand in front of her face. Nothing, no sense of knowing he was there, right next to her, willing her to understand he wanted to help. He tried shouting at her, hoping to break the fragile connection from her senses and her memories. Nothing, he sat helpless next to her, watching her eyes tell a story of there own. Her breathing accelerated and she was muttering brief exclamations.

"What are you seeing?" he asked, hoping that she would answer, if he knew what she was seeing, perhaps he could talk her out of the nightmare that had overtaken her.

"Visions," she responded softly, Loki was overjoyed to at last receive a small part of coherence from her. She still remained dazed and in another world though.

"Visions of what?" he gently led her on, hoping for more answers.

"Death, blood, hunger, war, disease," her voice sped up as she named catastrophes of every sort. "I see visions of the dead, bodies long corrupt, ones that I corrupted. I see blood, covering the streets, blood that I painted with. I see hunger, hunger that I caused by bringing war and disease. I have destroyed much and I will destroy more if I stay."

"No, you have caused nothing, Tuarwen. You have stopped these things from happening, you have stopped death, hunger, and war. You have prohibited them from happening, Asgard is in your debt," he willed her to believe what he knew to be true. Many would never accept her, many would despise her for who she was. She would face the discrimination that he had faced, but she would do it knowing that he, and even a few others, would always accept her.

She turned and smiled sadly at him. "It is not Asgard who I speak of. I will see a river of blood wash away all that is left of my nation and will not stop it. I will cause it. There is no flood after my life, only during it," she sighed, the memory was broken and it left her scared and open for all to see. "So this is what she's really like," mused Loki, he liked this version of her, it was soft, but full of conviction. The connection was broken and Tuarwen pushed herself up and onto her feet.

"They will be looking for you both," she stated, Loki turned to Sif, how long had she been standing there watching them?

Tuarwen stiffly walked past Sif, but Sif reached out a hand and detained her. She searched deeply into the golden-blue eyes eyeing her warily.

"I'm sorry," she said, releasing her firm hold. Tuarwen wondered what she meant, what was she sorry for?

The trio walked out of the Vault all the more confused and twisted than when they walked in, it's strange how one small meaningless event can change everything for someone. It changed Tuarwen because she realized that this place could become the home she never had. It gave Sif the meaning behind being truly broken and the sympathy to understand it. It gave Loki the protective feeling for Tuarwen that was beginning to overwhelm him, a place to start repairing the damage that had been placed on her in Svartalfheim. It changed everything, and yet confused everything. Had Svartalfheim started a war? Who were they after? What was their goal? And what part would the trio play in it for better or for worse?


End file.
